


A Family Affair

by orphan_account



Series: Family Affair [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hamish being called Sherlock, Incest, M/M, Mycroft is a conflicted human being, Sherrinford - the eldest son, Underage Sex, it's a family affair, so am I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:05:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish comes to Mycroft for some help with his family history assignment and gets a lot more than he bargained for.</p><p>Mycroft soon finds himself caught up in memories of his past with Sherlock and loses himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whatswithmegan and I roleplayed this idea on omegle but never really made it to the end. So I asked if she would mind me making it into a proper fanfiction and she said it was fine! I've taken a liberty to changing some things and embellishing it a lot more.
> 
> Age difference and incest seem to be my biggest kinks.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. I don't know who created Hamish, I just enjoy shipping him with everyone.

Being led inside to wait outside the door to Mycroft's office, Hamish tightened his grip on his backpack and went over his story in his head again. _"I have an assignment to complete about my family history and was wondering if you could give me some information?"_ He couldn't see any reason why Mycroft would find that suspicious, so forced himself to relax and loosen his grip again.

The _truth_ about his visit to Mycroft was a lot simpler. Hamish just wanted to see him. He found the older man admirable and strangely alluring, drawing him back time and time again just to hear him speak in his proper way and watch the faintest traces of emotion flicker behind his cold mask.

When the door opened, Hamish smiled.

"Hamish!" Mycroft greeted him, stepping back and allowing the boy to enter the study before closing the door again and returning to his desk. "I see you've come here with a school project in mind. I hope it won't take too long, though, as I have a number of things I need to finish up before tomorrow."

"No," Hamish said, sitting on the chair in front of Mycroft's desk and bringing his backpack onto his lap. "It shouldn't take long at all. I just have an assignment on family history which I have to complete and was hoping you'd be able to tell me some things."

"Ah," Mycroft nodded. "Family names? Occupations? I have them all in a file."

Hamish watched as Mycroft stood and walked to his filing cabinet, unlocking one of the drawers and then flipping through them to pull out one particularly large folder. Sitting down again, Mycroft opened it up to the first piece of paper and glanced at it briefly before sliding it over to Hamish.

"Is that all of them?" Hamish asked he looked down at it. The list seemed rather small to him after going over detailed family trees in class.

"Depending on how far back you need to go, I do have more in here," Mycroft said with a smile, tapping the second piece of paper from the folder. "What I gave you is, I suppose, a condensed version of all the most important people in our family going back through the generations."

Hamish read over it with a bit more interest this time, frowning slightly as read over one of the names.

"Sherrinford Holmes? It says he's your older brother." Hamish glanced up. "How come you never talk about him and I've never met him?"

Mycroft smiled faintly and clasped his hands together on top of the folder. "Sherrinford remains at our family home in the countryside. He took over the estate after our father passed away and has expressed a desire to be kept out of all Sherlock's and my affairs."

"But he's your brother," Hamish pressed on, leaning forward slightly. "What happened that tore you apart?"

A flicker of emotion which Hamish couldn't place passed over Mycroft's face before the man leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Do you need any more names for your assignment or shall that list satisfy you?"

Realising the subject was off-limits, Hamish eased back against his chair again and nodded his head, looking down at the page.

"It's enough. There is one more thing, though. I was hoping you could tell me about something really interesting, possibly even scandalous, that has happened at some point along our family line? To spice up my assignment, you know?" Hamish looked back up at Mycroft again and smiled cheekily.

"You want to tell your teacher and entire class about something we've done our best to keep hidden?" Mycroft asked, tilting his head slightly as though he wasn't sure he understood Hamish's request.

"Well, I suppose. It'll be exciting, and if it's from years ago it won't matter-"

"Hamish." Mycroft shook his head subtly.

"Not even just one story? Something small..." Hamish looked down at the bag on his lap with a sigh.

"Unfortunately our family secrets are exactly that. Family secrets." Mycroft drummed his fingers on his desk briefly before stopping one finger on top of a single name on the second sheet of paper in the folder. "Now _there_ would be an interesting story to tell." Slyly looking up at Hamish, Mycroft smirked as he saw the boys eyes fixed to him excitedly.

"Who is she?" Hamish asked quietly, leaning forward to try and read the name beneath his Uncle's finger.

"Your Great-Great-Great Grandmother," Mycroft replied, lifting his finger and sliding the page over for Hamish to read easier. "Unfortunately she was a bit of an embarrassment to our family and therefore was removed from the condensed family tree."

Hamish was taking in the information on this new page like it was the most thrilling thing he had ever seen. When Mycroft remained silent for a few more minutes he looked up again, eager to hear more.

"You do understand, don't you, that what I tell you now can never be repeated outside of this room?" Mycroft asked slowly. "You cannot write about any of our secrets in your assignment and certainly cannot repeat them to any of your school friends."

"I promise," Hamish agreed quickly, nodding his head. "It will be my duty to keep the family secrets from getting into the light. I understand. Please, I want to know."

Considering it for a moment, Mycroft then finally nodded and gave in to the boys wishes. "Your Great-Great-Great Grandmother somehow managed to get herself married to five different men within the span of two weeks, with all men still living."

"Five?" Hamish exclaimed, pushing his backpack onto the floor and leaning in closer again. "How did she do that?"

"The details were never retrieved." Mycroft sighed. "It will forever remain a mystery how she managed to pull wool over five men's eyes. The truth of her marriages came out a month later, though, when one of her husbands died and another was imprisoned. Divorces were sorted out and, because all of the men except the two out of the picture were furious at being deceived, she was left with no one. Until, that is, her ex-husband who had been imprisoned was released and remarried her to become your Great-Great-Great Grandfather."

Hamish was silent for a moment before grinning widely. "And am I to understand there are a lot more stories like that? It's thrilling. What was he imprisoned for, then?"

Mycroft cleared his throat before answering, a slight smile on his face as everything about Hamish right now was reminding him strongly of what Sherlock had been like when he was the same age. "Public indecency."

"Indecency?" Hamish asked, eyes wide. "And she still remarried him?"

Chuckling, Mycroft nodded his head.

Hamish focused his attention on the papers in front of him for a few moments, reading over them silently and wondering what he should ask Mycroft about next. Finally, he raised his eyes and squared his shoulders. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"Okay," Hamish began, his mind made up. "I want you to tell me about the most outrageous, immoral and sordid thing which has ever happened along our family line. That you know of, obviously." Satisfied with his request, Hamish folded his arms and waited for Mycroft to speak.

Mycroft found himself staring at Hamish silently, his mind thoroughly fixed on a memory of himself and Sherlock using their father's study for a quick shag. Hamish looked so much like his father that Mycroft simply couldn't shake the images from his mind and he began to grow uncomfortable in his chair.

Yet for some reason he saw this as the perfect chance to finally get everything off his chest. To tell someone about what had happened and finally let the past lay to rest.

Of course, he could not tell Hamish bluntly that he and Sherlock had been involved in a relationship, but a well-spun story of an incestuous relationship somewhere along the Holmes family line would probably go down well. Hamish would get an interesting story like he wanted and Mycroft would feel better for finally speaking the truth out loud.

"There is one that comes to mind," he began slowly, with Hamish already leaning even closer in his excitement to find out more family secrets. "What were your criteria again? Outrageous? It's definitely that. Immoral? Yes. Sordid?" Mycroft paused a very brief moment. "That as well."

"Tell me then!" Hamish laughed.

"Somewhere through the generations of Holmes'," Mycroft said, gesturing vaguely at the papers in front of Hamish before going on. "There were two brothers who not only _both_ preferred men instead of women, but who were also rather fond of each other."

Hamish stared at Mycroft with wide eyes, his mouth open before he looked down sharply and began searching the Holmes family information for possible candidates. He wanted to be able to attach names to the brothers in his mind.

Mycroft ignored his movements and continued with the story. After all, whoever Hamish found in the pages and convinced himself were the brothers Mycroft was talking about was none of Mycroft's concern.

"Their affair started young and for quite a few years they managed to keep their relationship a secret, but like all dark secrets it did eventually come to light. Another family member exposed the incestuous relationship and the eldest was sent to university, far enough that if they wanted to continue what they were doing it would be much more difficult. After the younger brother went to university as well, they did have a few more meetings before one of them met someone else and the entire thing was finished for good."

Hamish was silent, his head still bent over the pages detailing the Holmes family tree. After describing what he himself had done, Mycroft felt a bit resentful, having expected some sort of loud reaction from the boy in front of him instead of just his continued quiet study of the papers. Why wasn't Hamish visibly repulsed by the story?

"Then, obviously," Mycroft said with an awkward cough as he felt maybe he needed to add a bit more of a conclusion to the story. "All who knew what had happened promised to remain quiet and the brothers never spoke of it again. To my knowledge."

"There are no other sets of brothers in the family line," Hamish said softly, barely able to conceal the excitement which was growing inside him. He looked up at Mycroft and waited patiently, allowing his words to sink in. "I've checked four times."

Mycroft stiffened at the boys words, swallowing and cursing himself for not thoroughly checking before spinning a story which could get him into a lot of trouble. He reached over and snatched the pages back from Hamish quickly, looking them over and pleading silently for another pair of brothers to appear in the list.

"Perhaps my memory fails me," Mycroft spoke calmly, forcing himself to maintain a panic-free exterior. "It may have been a brother and a sister."

"No," Hamish said immediately, shaking his head and allowing a small smile to work its way onto his face. "You told that story like you'd heard it a million times. You knew every detail without having to think it over. Two brothers _did_ fall in love." Pausing, Hamish watched eagerly as a sliver of fear became evident in Mycroft's eyes. "But you were one of them, weren't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish takes what he wants, by manipulating Mycroft into taking what _he_ wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have an official beta-reader, ibelieveinjawn! Thank you so much for helping me even when I was really stuck and could only get out like, one sentence every hour...
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Hamish is secretly Slenderman and Mycroft is secretly a merman.~~

Mycroft stood up from his desk and crossed to his bookshelf, resting a hand against some of the book spines. "The story could have been about Sherlock and Sherrinford," he said carefully, but his fingers twitched at his own words. "Why did you immediately assume I was a part of what happened?"

"Wishful thinking, I guess," Hamish admitted with a sigh, staring at his hands in his lap. "I thought because you knew so much about it you had to be one of the brothers in love. But you're just the one that found out, aren't you? That my father and Sherrinford were-"

"No."

Mycroft turned back to face Hamish and slipped his hands into his pockets, watching as the boy looked up at him with a confused expression. Hamish's mouth slowly opened in surprise and Mycroft took his seat at the desk again.

"It was your father and I. We gave in to our desires and I have always regretted allowing such a thing to happen. Sherrinford found out and demanded that we put an end to it, which we tried to do. It was only when Sherlock met John that we successfully managed to keep away from each other." Narrowing his eyes, Mycroft quickly added, "Why did you say 'wishful thinking'?"

"I don't think it's sordid." Hamish swallowed. There was a light of excitement back in his eyes again which Mycroft deliberately ignored. "If you were just the brother who found out, then it would have meant that you believed it was truly disgusting."

"It _is_ disgusting, Hamish. I don't have to be a bystander to hold that opinion."

"But you would understand, wouldn't you?" Hamish asked desperately. "If you met someone else also in a relationship with a member of their family, or with feelings for someone in their family. You could relate."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked away, shrugging his shoulders. "Considering that I would never be able to admit what happened to anyone outside our family, that idea is rendered pointless."

"Father said you're smarter than he is."

Mycroft looked back at Hamish again, eyes narrowed again as he waited for an explanation of what the boy was getting at. Part of him briefly wondered how anyone could have gotten such a confession from Sherlock.

"I thought you would have noticed by now. Why I'm here, why I keep coming here with different excuses and questions about school. And especially why I'm asking you to relate to someone else experiencing incestuous thoughts." Hamish lifted his chin slightly. "I am very much like my father."

Mycroft had been so busy trying not to think about Hamish's resemblance to a teenage Sherlock that he now found himself stunned into silence. The boy had a crush on him. Painfully obvious. The boy had a crush on his old, boring Uncle. Why? Was there some sort of repressed gene of incest which Sherlock had passed on to him? Was that possible?

"I was hoping," Hamish said softly, reaching forward with one hand to lay it over Mycroft's. Almost instantly Mycroft shook it off and Hamish frowned but continued speaking. "That we would get closer and closer until I could admit how I felt and maybe you would understand. I never thought it possible that we could be so alike, though!"

Mycroft stood up abruptly, scowling down at Hamish and shaking his head.

"I made a mistake many years ago, Hamish. Trust me when I say you do _not_ want to do the same. Perhaps it would be best if you went home now."

Hamish stood up and walked around the desk quickly, only stopping once he was directly in front of his Uncle.

"You haven't really focused on me the entire time I've been here," he said angrily. "So why don't you take a look now? Take a good look and really see me. I think you're afraid you're going to _want_ me if you do but the thing is, Myc, that you don't have to be afraid. You don't have to be afraid of anything."

As though Hamish's words had some sort of magical quality to them, Mycroft found himself looking over the boy against his better judgement. Hamish was approximately the same size as Sherlock had been at the age of sixteen. Lean and tall, with the same unruly hair and bright eyes staring back. But he was _not_ Sherlock.

It took Mycroft far too long to then also realise the boy had used a nickname in speaking to him, and complained about it belatedly. "Don't call me Myc."

"Did he call you that?" Hamish asked, grinning and pressing his hands against Mycroft's chest. Mycroft grabbed his wrists firmly, keeping him from doing anything else but unable to wipe the smile from the boys face.

"Whatever he did or didn't call me is none of your business. You need to leave."

"Why? Are you finding it difficult to control yourself?" Hamish teased.

Mycroft felt Hamish's fingers shifting against his chest and quickly pushed him backwards, accidentally causing the boy to slam his leg against the desk. Hamish winced and moved his hand to massage the area as Mycroft looked on with a pained expression of his own.

Letting out a heavy sigh after a moment, Mycroft put a hand on Hamish's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

"It's fine, Myc, just a small bruise." Hamish kept his eyes lowered, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips subconsciously as he went over his newly revised plan to convince Mycroft to accept what he wanted.

In light of the fact that it was his own fault the boy was injured, Mycroft allowed the use of his nickname to slide without commenting on it this time. If it made Hamish feel better to use it, then fine. Mycroft didn't have to think about Sherlock every time he heard it, after all. He could control his mind, the turn his thoughts took and – _bloody hell_ , Mycroft thought as he watched Hamish lick his lips. The boy _had_ to be doing that on purpose.

"Whatever..." Mycroft trailed off and then tried again. "Whatever feelings you think you feel for me will pass. You'll get over them and find someone else your own age to start a relationship with."

"Have you gotten over your feelings for Sherlock?" Hamish asked, blinking up at Mycroft innocently.

"Sherlock and I have both moved on. He found John and started a family. I have progressed with my role as-"

"But your feelings are still there. Sherlock may have moved on and forgotten about you – _replaced_ you – but you're still pining after him." Hamish placed his hand over Mycroft's on his shoulder, holding just tight enough so that Mycroft couldn't pull away again.

"Even if that were true," Mycroft murmured, his eyes fixing on their hands. The boys hands were slender just like Sherlock's, and Mycroft forced himself to swallow before speaking again. "What makes you think this has anything to do with you?"

Stepping closer to Mycroft again and further away from the desk, Hamish stood as tall as he could in an attempt to lessen the height difference between them. He wanted Mycroft's full attention and reached his free hand up to the man's face.

"You loved him _so much_ and he just _left_ you." Hamish ran his fingers lightly across Mycroft's cheek. "Don't you see? You don't have to be alone anymore. You can have me as a replacement for what you lost."

Shaking his head feebly, Mycroft said, "You don't know what you're asking for. I have never loved anyone aside from Sherlock."

Leaning forward and up on his tiptoes, Hamish whispered into Mycroft's ear. "So love Sherlock." Without giving Mycroft any time to try and work out what that meant, Hamish then moved his hand down to the man's trousers. He traced his fingers over Mycroft's gradually growing bulge and grinned, licking his lips again. The man before him gasped and moved to push him away, but Hamish quickly wound his arms around Mycroft's waist and pulled their bodies together with a moan.

"You're only sixteen." Mycroft's voice was strained, his hands clinging to Hamish's arms but no longer pushing him away. The boy shifted against him to create friction and Mycroft fought to remain quiet, staring at the head of curls in front of him.

"You've already slept with your brother; what more damage can you possibly do by sleeping with his son?"

"A _world_ of damage, Hamish. We are _not_ going to sleep together." Mycroft tried not to think about the way his breathing was speeding up, or the way he could feel Hamish's heart beat hammering against his chest. He was also most definitely not allowing himself to think about how, from this angle, he could almost pretend it _was_ Sherlock pressed up against him. Beautiful, innocent Sherlock desperate for his brother to show him what it was like to be loved.

Oh, how Mycroft had failed him.

"But I _want_ you!" Hamish exclaimed, breaking into Mycroft's thoughts and stretching up on his toes again to attach his lips to Mycroft's throat. The man gasped again and stumbled back a step, hands moving from Hamish's arms to his waist.

"S-stop," he stammered weakly. If this had been anyone other than Hamish – with his remarkable resemblance to Sherlock – Mycroft was certain he would have been able to push him away easily and prevent his body from reacting the way it was. But unfortunately this _was_ Hamish and all attempts seemed futile.

Ceasing his assault on Mycroft's neck, Hamish leaned back just enough to look up at the man's face. They were both breathing heavily now and Hamish didn't say anything, just catching his breath and watching as an array of emotions crossed Mycroft's face. After apparently finding what he was looking for in the man's face, he disentangled himself and moved to lean against the desk.

Thinking maybe now was the time to try and salvage the situation, Mycroft cleared his throat and made his face neutral. "Hamish, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings-"

Before Mycroft could get anywhere, Hamish held up a hand to silence him and then moved his hands to his shirt. He unbuttoned it slowly, revealing his pale skin bit by bit before leaving the material hanging on his shoulders to move on to his trousers. He had almost slid them all the way past his hips when he heard Mycroft breathe in sharply and Hamish tensed, half expecting the man to yell at him to leave.

To Hamish's surprise – but delight – Mycroft stepped over to him and cupped his face in his hands, pressing their lips together forcefully. The boy whimpered and pressed close once more, eagerly working to remove Mycroft's clothing now that the man was actively showing his own interest in the situation as well.

Mycroft had tried not to give in to what Hamish wanted, but seeing the boy undressing himself only caused more stirrings within him which he hadn't felt for many years. In the past, Sherlock had been the only one capable of eliciting such a reaction from Mycroft; Hamish must have inherited the ability from his father.

Putting a bit more space between their bodies to make it easier for Hamish to get his clothes off, Mycroft parted his lips in the kiss. He felt an extra rush of fondness for Hamish well up inside him as the boy copied his movements, clearly trying to please him in any way he could. Beginning to suck gently on Hamish's lips without thinking about anymore consequences, Mycroft eased his shirt off as the boy undid the last button and it dropped to the floor.

A lot happened quickly in the next few moments. Mycroft began to pull the rest of Hamish's clothing off while the boy moved to Mycroft's trousers, each of them finding it increasingly difficult to continue kissing as closely as they had been before now that they had other tasks they were so focused on.

Giving up on trying to keep his lips on Hamish's, Mycroft quickly swept a hand over his desk to clear it and then lifted the boy onto it.

"Yes," Hamish hissed as he lay on his back and pulled Mycroft on top of him. "Myc."

"You've been using your father's hair products," Mycroft commented with an amused drawl. "I can smell it."

"Good," Hamish said, fluttering his eyelids and looking awfully pleased with himself. "I did it on purpose. I was hoping it would work to my advantage."

Mycroft kissed the squirming boy beneath him, running his hands all over the smooth skin that was suddenly at his mercy. Leaning in closer, Mycroft then breathed in the smell of Sherlock's shampoo, a smile curling onto his face as a dozen fond memories sprung to mind.

"Hands and knees," Mycroft ordered softly, the words sending an excited shiver down Hamish's spine before the boy quickly wriggled to comply. When Hamish was on his stomach, Mycroft lifted himself a bit higher so Hamish had room to push up onto his hands and knees. Then pressing kisses down the boy's spine, Mycroft let out a sigh.

"Myc, please," Hamish whined, pressing his arse back against the man's erection. "I need you."

"I know," Mycroft assured him, running a hand down his side before letting it rest on Hamish's hip. Then reaching down to the side with his other hand, he fumbled with the drawer of his desk before managing to pull it open and pull out a small tube of lubricant. Resting that on the desk, he went back for a condom before closing the drawer.

"You keep condoms in your drawer?" Hamish asked with a raised eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. Mycroft gently pushed his head to look away again, trying to hide his own smile of amusement.

"They're not mine."

"Likely story."

Comfortingly brushing his fingers over Hamish's hip, Mycroft then leaned back slightly to roll the condom onto his member once he'd opened the packet. He then opened the lube, coating the fingers of one hand and putting his other back on Hamish's hip to keep him steady.

Mycroft hesitated then, looking down at Hamish's bare back and the dark curls on his head which were so similar to Sherlock's. He swallowed stiffly and gave the boy's hip a gentle squeeze before leaning over him again and pressing a very light kiss to the back of his neck. Hamish tried to push his hips back again but Mycroft held him still, clicking his tongue once.

"Are you absolutely sure that you want to go through with this?" Mycroft questioned, his thumb idly stroking the boy's skin.

Taking in a sharp breath, Hamish nodded his head. "Yes. Please."

Accepting the answer, Mycroft pressed a slicked finger to Hamish's entrance, swirling around slowly before beginning to press in. Hamish quivered slightly beneath him but otherwise made no sound and it wasn't long before Mycroft's finger was all the way in. Easing it back out gently, he began to slide it in and out before cautiously adding a second finger.

Mycroft could feel his erection aching for attention between his legs and memories of pushing into Sherlock's tight arse flooded his mind. He needed to feel that again. Shifting his hand from Hamish's hip to his hair, Mycroft removed his fingers from the boys arse and fumbled to coat his erection with more lube. Once he was satisfied with his efforts, he lined up and began to push in, his eyes closing in bliss.

Hamish whimpered beneath the man, his hands gripping the edge of the desk so hard that his knuckles had turned white. He stared down at them, breathing harshly and biting his lip to try and stop himself from crying out. This was what he wanted. Mycroft had given in and it was good. It would get better.

Having his member encased in such a glorious tight heat made Mycroft gasp for breath, moans tumbling out of his throat and drowning out any softer sounds Hamish made beneath him. He pushed in as slowly as he could, pulling back out before he went all the way. He began to thrust shallowly, grunting each time and pulling harder at Hamish's hair without realising what he was doing.

"Sh-Sher-" Mycroft deepened his thrusts slightly, pressing his body against Hamish's back and his lips to the boy's shoulder. The hand that wasn't busy holding Hamish's hair slid between the boy's legs, gripping his smaller erection and beginning to pump in time with Mycroft's thrusts.

It was barely a minute later when Hamish came with a moaning sob, and feeling Hamish's body tighten around him gave Mycroft the final push to climaxing with a soft, " _Sherlock_."

A silence descended on the room and Mycroft carefully eased his member out of Hamish, discarding the used condom onto the floor.

"I-" He swallowed. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to say that."

When Hamish didn't say anything in reply, Mycroft sat back and gently stroked a hand down the boy's sweat-covered back. He was very still, the only movement being his shoulders rising and falling. Hearing a sniff, Mycroft suddenly stiffened before gently pulling on Hamish's shoulder so he would turn and look at him.

"You're crying," Mycroft whispered, instantly feeling sick to his stomach.

"I'm fine," Hamish said quickly, flashing a painful smile and wiping at the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand. "It was my first time. I just... need a moment."

Closing his eyes briefly, Mycroft nodded and then carefully got off the desk and began cleaning himself up. He knew he needed to get Hamish home as soon as possible so they could put all this behind them. Obviously it never should have happened and Mycroft never should allowed his memories of Sherlock to take control of him.

Once Mycroft had all of his clothes back on and almost looked exactly as he had before Hamish's entrance, he turned to look at the boy again.

Hamish had gotten off the desk and grabbed some tissues to clean up his ejaculate before pulling his clothes on slowly. Mycroft had to look away again, finding it impossible not to continue seeing the similarities to Sherlock.

"You should go home," Mycroft spoke up, clearing his throat and risking another glance at the boy now that he had all of his clothes back on. "You do understand this will never happen again, yes?"

Looking up quickly, Hamish stared at the man in shock. He opened his mouth to speak but then paused, thinking about his words carefully. "You need me."

"I _need_ for you to go home and forget about your crush on me." Mycroft looked down at his desk, feeling absolutely awful. Not only had he made the boy cry, but now he was also kicking him out and squashing his dreams. He knew what it felt like to be rejected after thinking you were going to get everything you wanted – Sherlock had done the same to him. But that did not mean he could allow this to go on.

"Would you tell me to leave if I was over eighteen?" Hamish asked, walking slowly towards Mycroft. "Is it because of my age? Because... this is illegal no matter what age I am. Please."

Stubbornly avoiding Hamish's gaze, Mycroft shook his head. "I hurt you."

"I'm pretty sure it always hurts the first time." Hamish grinned again, his confidence from before returning. "We could always test that out, though, if you disagree. I could come back tomorrow and-"

"I only had sex with you because you look like Sherlock," Mycroft snapped, finally looking down at the boy again with narrowed eyes. He was hoping that the blatant honesty would scare him off.

But all Hamish did was raise an eyebrow, watching Mycroft with a slight frown. "I know that."

"Then why...?" Mycroft sighed and ran a hand through his hair tiredly. He could deal with almost any other type of person with no problem, but when it came to teenage boys he felt like he was drowning. Hamish was far too clever already for his own good and continued to surprise Mycroft with his reactions.

Reaching up to touch Mycroft's face again, Hamish smiled warmly. "You enjoyed it and so did I, despite the pain. You and I work together and we don't need to explain to each other why. Stop making excuses, Myc. I'll be here again the same time tomorrow."

Mycroft didn't even get a chance to argue as Hamish pulled him down into a kiss, using his tongue with an endearing lack of skill which made Mycroft push even closer, burying his hand in Hamish's hair.

The boy swiped his tongue over Mycroft's one last time before pulling away, winking and then striding towards the door without another backwards glance.

Mycroft stood silently for a few minutes until he finally sat down in his desk chair again, glancing around at the mess of papers on the floor while licking his lips. He had no doubt at all that Hamish would return to see him the next day and he would welcome the boy with open arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole fucking year below the legal age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to a few of my tumblr followers who helped me beta read this and make it a lot better than it was originally. Thank you for stopping me from publishing a chapter with battling tongues.

Hamish blinked his eyes open slowly, glancing around the room to see the sun lighting up the far wall and turning it a golden colour. He smiled lazily and closed his eyes again, staying curled up under the covers of the large bed which retained the scent of Mycroft's shampoo. It was warm and soft and _perfect_ – except of course for the lack of another body beside him.

His parents had gone out of town the previous night on a case, sending him to stay with Mycroft since the man had so generously offered. It was the perfect chance for Mycroft and Hamish to spend a night together without raising suspicion and they had siezed the opportunity eagerly.

The sound of a door creaking open made Hamish open his eyes again and he looked over to see Mycroft entering.

"Morning," the man said, walking over to press a kiss to Hamish's lips. "Sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. I had a few errands to run."

"It's fine." Hamish sighed happily and dared to reach an arm out from the warmth of the covers so he could grab Mycroft's hand. "Have you eaten?"

"Actually, no. I was wondering whether you would like to have breakfast with me this morning."

Grinning, Hamish pulled on Mycroft's arm until he was leaning down enough to kiss again. Then, before Mycroft could stand up properly again, Hamish shot his other arm out and pulled the man down onto the bed.

Mycroft was caught by surprise as he tumbled down, letting out a laugh as he rolled to lie beside Hamish. "Not quite ready for breakfast, then?" he teased. Cupping the boy's face in his hands, Mycroft kissed him deeply and allowed the wandering hands to grab his arse through his suit trousers. Their previous meetings in his office had not provided the comfort found in this bedroom and it was a welcome change.

Mycroft thought Hamish deserved a bed every time, but he simply couldn't make that happen with a relationship such as theirs which called for constant discretion.

Nibbling Mycroft's lip gently, Hamish ran a hand through the older man's hair before pulling back to smile at him.

"Did you have anything planned?"

"Some toast, eggs, and pancakes maybe?" Mycroft asked, returning the boy's smile and brushing a curl back from his forehead. "You'll need to get dressed first, though. As much as I love having you wander around in your birthday suit, you'll probably be cold."

"We could eat by the fire," Hamish suggested cheekily, his fingers trying to subtly undo Mycroft's jacket and shirt. Mycroft, upon noticing, decided to ignore him and let him have his fun.

"I suppose it is an option, but I still think you should get dressed. We have no idea when your parents will let us know you can return home and I'm certainly not returning you naked."

Hamish chuckled and dragged Mycroft into another kiss. It went on languidly for a minute until Mycroft reluctantly parted from the boy. He sighed, fingers lingering on Hamish's cheek before he sat up and got off the bed.

"I'll start getting the food ready."

Hamish whined.

"I have to! I let the maid have a day off, remember?"

Groaning but consenting, Hamish waved lazily as Mycroft left the room again. He continued to lie in bed for a few more minutes, his whole body feeling light with happiness.

Since the first time Hamish had thrown himself at Mycroft, they had met as frequently as possible without drawing attention to themselves. As they were confined to Mycroft's office, there hadn't been very much room for imagination. They either had sex on the desk or in the chair – Mycroft wouldn't allow sex on the floor – and it was over fairly quickly. So for Hamish to be lying in Mycroft's bed after a night of long, _tender_ sex was still a bit surreal.

He had almost completely forgotten that he was meant to be getting up and putting clothes on when a sudden noise caught his attention and he shifted to hear it better. There were voices coming from downstairs and after a moment of trying to discern them, Hamish sat up abruptly.

His parents had come to get him.

 _"_ _Hold on … cooking breakfast for Hamish?"_

_"Oh yes, the maid … family emergency …"_

_"… still asleep?"_

Having crawled out of the bed to put Mycroft's dressing gown on so he could lean against the door, Hamish was still only able to hear snippets of the conversation below. At least, as far as he could tell, his parents still didn't have a clue what was really going on. He _really_ needed to find his clothes and fast.

_"Staying … guest bedroom … ?"_

Hamish was still picking his clothes off the floor and trying to hide Mycroft's own discarded items when he heard a sudden change in the conversation. He could hear his father, Sherlock, speaking with a sharp tone which sent a shiver down his spine as he halted a moment to try and work out what had gone wrong.

_"Sherlock … not what you think."_

_"Let_ go _of me!"_

John's voice briefly joined the others. _"Hang on, sorry –_ _W_ _hat's going on?"_

 _"Sherlock, wait! It's not – You don't understand!_ _John please, for the love of god stay here."_

Hamish almost fell over in his rush to pull his trousers on, his arms seizing in panic a few times as listened to his father's footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. This wasn't meant to happen. They weren't meant to come without warning and certainly not come investigating to see where he was.

The door was flung open with a bang and there was Sherlock, his dark sweeping gaze taking in every detail of the room and filing it away. Hamish stood, trembling yet defiant, at the end of the bed. He'd managed to get his trousers on but was still holding his shirt in his hands.

Mycroft shortly arrived behind Sherlock, clearly distraught that he was too late and unsure whether he should try and drag his brother away or not. The damage had already been done.

"You slept with my son," Sherlock said softly, staring at Hamish but addressing Mycroft. "You actually slept with my _son_." Noting Hamish's squared shoulders and clenched jaw, Sherlock shook his head. "How long has this been going on?"

"Please," Mycroft begged. "Can we at least allow him to get dr-"

Turning to glare at the older man, Sherlock snapped, " _Mycroft._ "

"Months."

There was a pregnant pause as the information processed in Sherlock's mind and he stared at Mycroft in disgust. Finally, with his expression softening slightly, he asked, "Is this because of me?"

"I don't see how it could be," Mycroft replied, narrowing his eyes.

"You thought you could have second pickings, is that it? I turned you down so you took the next best thing?" Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at Hamish again before returning his gaze to his brother with a look of pure hatred. "You're pathetic."

"Alright, Sherlock, calm down," John called from where he was reaching the top of the staircase and moving over to them to find out what was going on. He had waited as long as he could before curiosity became too strong and he had to find out what was wrong. He was worried it had something to do with Hamish, and as he drew closer his steps slowed.

The moment he understood what was going on was evident by the way his shoulders snapped back and his hands clenched into fists. "Sorry Mycroft." His tone made it clear that he wasn't sorry at all. "Correct me if I'm wrong but it _looks_ like Sherlock has every right to be bloody furious."

"He turns seventeen next month," Mycroft murmured, as if that would somehow make everything better. He couldn't even meet their gazes anymore, feeling sick to his stomach as he was confronted by what he had been doing. Sherlock's _son_ and a _minor_. He would be lucky if all they did was lock him up.

"He turns-?" John choked out a laugh and glanced over at Sherlock, his eyes asking, 'is he serious?'. "Seventeen is still a whole fucking year below the legal age and does nothing to change the fact that he's related to you. Your brother's son! I don't... I don't even know what to say to you. You're disgusting."

"I love him," Hamish spoke up from where he had moved forward to stand behind Sherlock. He was watching Mycroft, though, wishing he could get past his father to support him. "He's not the one you should be blaming and calling names. Nothing would have even happened between us if _I_ didn't come to him first."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"But it's true!"

" _You_ ," Sherlock said, pointing a finger at him fiercely. "-are not the one with a history of incestuous preference."

"Yeah, forgot you took that title."

Sherlock was fuming as he glared down at Hamish, speechless at the accusation he was met with. Before he could find his words again to snap something in return, John grabbed his arm and pulled him aside to talk softly.

Seizing the opportunity, Hamish went straight to Mycroft's side.

"Sorry I couldn't get out fast enough. How did he work it out?"

Mycroft sighed as he glanced down at Hamish, his gaze lingering on the boy's worried expression. Lifting a hand to cup his cheek gently, he attempted to smile past the ill feeling in his stomach.

"I didn't expect him to come and pick you up directly, so I didn't even try to hide all the signs. The main ones of course being that I let the maid have a day off and was cooking breakfast for you in the late morning. It also happens that I hadn't done my buttons up since you... Well. He must have connected the dots in under a minute."

"Maybe this is for the best," Hamish suggested with a shrug. "Now we can focus on them accepting it rather than hiding all the time."

"I don't think that will happen, Hamish." Mycroft lowered his hand and shook his head slightly, wishing he could look away from the hurt now shown on Hamish's face. "I knew from the beginning that it was a mistake. Nothing you and I say can make your parents change their minds. They're right, after all."

"They're not-!"

"Yes. Yes, Hamish, they are."

Mycroft looked up as Sherlock and John moved back over to them. From the look on John's face it was obvious that Sherlock had reluctantly explained his history with Mycroft from when they were younger. The shorter man looked ready to kill.

"We're going home," John said firmly.

Hamish might have tried to fight against it harder if Mycroft hadn't let him down moments before. As it was, all he did was scowl at his parents before looking back at Mycroft desperately, waiting to be saved. Mycroft said and did nothing, avoiding the boy's eyes stubbornly until Hamish gave in and went to get his things from the bedroom.

"I can't believe you would stoop so low," John hissed while Hamish was gone. "First your own brother, and then your nephew? You like them looking young, do you?"

"I will not deny that at the start I was only with him because of his resemblance to Sherlock. But if you think that's what has kept me calling him back, you're wrong. Your son is intelligent, beautiful in his own ways, and an overall pleasure to be ar-"

Before Mycroft could finish his sentence, he found himself slammed against the wall with a bloody nose. John was dragged away by Hamish as Sherlock stood back, watching Mycroft with what could almost pass as regret.

"Come near my son again and I will fucking kill you, Mycroft," John snarled, freeing himself from Hamish's grip to straighten his clothes and then head towards the stairs.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to hold against his nose, Mycroft watched silently as the family of three left – Sherlock with an arm around Hamish's shoulders to guide him away and the boy's head turned over his shoulder to leave Mycroft with one last lingering look.

All in all, Mycroft believed he had been let off quite easily.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock puts an offer on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I really want you guys to read this, even though it didn't make it into the fic because I changed how Sherlock and John found out about everything. But it contains my favourite line I've ever written in anything.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "John just told me. You've come for help on your history assignment again? If you need help putting it all together-"
> 
> Sherlock froze, his eyes darting to and fro as his brilliant mind pieced together the scene before him. His previous expression of frustration was pushed away and replaced by a stony, blank face.
> 
> "It's not semen, it's mayonnaise. I just had a sandwich. At eight o'clock at night. And spilled it everywhere. While naked."
> 
> "Sometimes I truly wonder whether you are your father's son," Mycroft exclaimed with a pained sigh.

Mycroft had just picked up his briefcase in preparation to leave for the day when the door slammed open and Sherlock entered. Anthea stood behind him, shrugging helplessly at Mycroft as it was clear she had tried to stop the brother from storming right in.

"It's alright, thank you, Anthea," Mycroft said with a nod, placing his briefcase down on his desk as Anthea closed the door to leave them in the room by themselves. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Sherlock crossed the room in one move, catching Mycroft off-guard as he pressed him against the desk and took his face in his hands. He spared one moment to savour the look of surprise on Mycroft's face before kissing him firmly, a hint of desperation slipping through.

Mycroft could barely think through his surprise. After so many years of pining and feeling sorry for himself, Sherlock was finally back in his arms again. Sherlock had willingly walked in through his door and into his arms. He was taller now, fiercer, but the memories that swarmed around them were intoxicating.

Sherlock's hands were wandering, sliding beneath material eagerly before finding Mycroft's hands and encouraging him to do the same, coaxing him to find all the sweet spots that used to be found on instinct.

Detaching their mouths to kiss down Mycroft's neck, Sherlock let out a moan that ought to be illegal for all that it did to Mycroft's libido and heart rate. The temperature felt like it had gone up ten degrees in the last ten seconds and Mycroft could feel his legs turning to jelly. How many times had he fantasised about Sherlock running back to him?

Countless.

As Sherlock peeled away Mycroft's suit so that he could continue kissing his brother's skin, Mycroft stared down at him and gingerly rested a hand in the familiar curls. Soft and wild, as they always were. But something was wrong.

"Stop."

Ignoring him, Sherlock's movements became frantic as he sucked Mycroft's nipples and started undoing his trousers.

"Sherlock, stop it!" Mycroft repeated, much firmer this time as he grabbed the younger man's hands and pushed him away. Even dishevelled, he emanated control.

"I know you still want me," Sherlock murmured, trying to press closer again.

Mycroft stepped back. "You threw yourself at me! I had no time to react."

"For having no time, you've _definitely_ reacted. Flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, accelerated heart rate. Oh, and what's this?" Sherlock reached a hand forward to press against Mycroft's erection.

"Why are you doing this?" Mycroft snapped angrily, pushing Sherlock's hand away again.

"I just want you to admit that you still want me."

They stared at each other silently, Sherlock's gaze challenging Mycroft to try and deny it.

"I will always find you attractive, Sherlock," Mycroft said slowly. He felt as though he were at the edge of a whirlpool, about to find himself spinning into the centre of a trap.

"And?" Sherlock urged gently, stepping closer once more so that their faces were inches from each other.

"And I would really appreciate it if you could leave, now."

"You want me. Take me, Myc. I'm all yours." The hint of desperation from before was back, shining from Sherlock's eyes as he waited for Mycroft to give in – _willed_ him to give in. When Mycroft remained silent, Sherlock grabbed his hips and pushed their erections together to make the older man gasp. "Take me!"

"No, Sherlock!" Mycroft lashed out, sending the younger man stumbling back a few feet before he caught his balance again. "I do _not_ want you. I used to, yes. But not anymore."

"Not now you've got Hamish, is that it?" Sherlock snarled.

"Is that what this is about? I love him, Sherlock! For his own merit. The offer of rekindling a past love which has long since burnt out is not going to take that away."

"You love him, do you? What _exactly_ do you love about him? His hair? Eyes? Could it possibly be his slim frame which is so similar to another you used to wrap yourself around?"

With a sigh, Mycroft moved over to the chair at his desk and sat down. "Please stop doing this."

"No! Look, I am giving you _everything_ you want. Leave him alone, let him grow up to find someone who can actually love him and I'll give you whatever else you want." Sherlock straightened, hesitating momentarily before adding, "I'll leave John. You can have me for the rest of your life if you just... stop using him. I'm begging you."

Looking up sharply, Mycroft stared at Sherlock in surprise.

"You still truly believe I'm only in this because of his similarities to you?" he murmured.

Shifting uncomfortable, Sherlock shrugged. "Of course. You're obsessed with me."

"No." Mycroft shook his head. "I used to be, but not now. Now I look at Hamish and I see a young man with a different future ahead of him. He's different from you in so many ways and I love all of him. His mind, his appearance, his personality. The very first time which started all the rest... _he_ came to _me_ , Sherlock. He showed interest and ever since then I haven't been able to pull away."

"Because he's just like me!" Sherlock objected.

"You never wanted me as much as he does." Standing again, Mycroft moved around the desk to approach Sherlock. "Even now, I admire what you are trying to do but I _know_ that you don't love me."

"And you don't love Hamish."

"Yes I do."

Roughly fixing his clothes to look presentable, Sherlock said, "You have a week to accept what I'm offering before I change my mind and you never get a chance at me ever again." He flicked his eyes up to stare at Mycroft, letting it sink in, before turning and leaving the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's offer.

The phone rang twice before Mycroft picked it up.

"It's been a week," came Sherlock's stiff voice.

"How observant of you. I do have a calendar, you know," Mycroft replied smoothly.

"What have you decided?" Sherlock asked.

"You knew what my decision was then. It hasn't changed."

"I told you this was your last chance to have me."

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. "I understand, Sherlock. I have moved on, which should please you. I no longer dream of pinning you underneath me and kissing you senseless."

"Just my son."

"Exactly."

"John won't allow it," Sherlock said softly. "Even if you do love Hamish, John would never accept it. He still can't believe that we used to..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"How is Hamish?" Mycroft asked, diverting the conversation since he didn't know how to fix the problem with John just yet.

"Sulking. He won't talk to either of us."

"He'll need time," Mycroft replied. "I gave him what he wanted and you forced my hand in tearing it away."

"We were protecting him," Sherlock snapped. "Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same-"

"I'm not," Mycroft interrupted. "But understand, Sherlock, that Sherrinford was trying to protect us as well and yet we did not get over it in a couple of weeks." Sherlock remained silent so Mycroft continued. "If you cannot convince John that my feelings are true and that Hamish should be trusted to know how he feels, you will both at least have to give him time."

"John thinks he's sick."

"Because he's in _love_?"

"Because John thinks it might be hereditary. Feeling incestuous. Three in one family is... But I do keep telling him we've never been 'normal'."

Mycroft sighed heavily and leant back in his chair. The situation, while impossible to begin with, only seemed to be getting worse. The only thing he could hope for was that with time John _would_ ease up on them, or Hamish would be able to move on and find someone else.

"Have you been defending us, brother?"

"Hardly," Sherlock scoffed in reply. "I've been defending myself. John kept asking if you forced yourself onto me. It hasn't been easy to convince him that I felt as strongly as you did."

Mycroft's shoulders tensed and he was silent for a moment, a frown on his face as he considered his next words carefully. "Perhaps that's been a chore because it's not true."

"What?"

"I know you wanted it, but you never loved me. Please don't try to manipulate me into believing that lie, because if you _had_ truly loved me you wouldn't have been able to leave me for John Watson." Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, trying to remain calm. He didn't want his old wounds to reopen, especially since he had been moving on from all of it so well with Hamish's help, but he couldn't pretend it didn't still hurt.

There was silence from the other end of the line for a while.

"Fine," Sherlock spoke eventually. "I never felt for you what I feel for John, and I admit I'm glad you didn't ask me to leave him for you now. But it still meant something to me! I cared about you deeply and I would have stayed with you for the rest of my life if I never met John."

"Well, thank him for me, would you? If you _had_ stayed with me I never would have met Hamish."

He heard Sherlock scoff and could tell the younger man was smiling, which brought a smile to his own face. He always enjoyed bantering with Sherlock because it reminded him that they could still be close and understand each other without having to be in a relationship. He'd told himself that many times after Sherlock left him.

"I should go," Sherlock sighed. "John will expect me home soon."

"You're not disappointed that I didn't choose you, are you, Sherlock?"

Mycroft held his breath after asking the question, his body stiff with tension. He wasn't sure what answer he was hoping to hear leave his brother's mouth, and he was forced to wait even longer as Sherlock didn't reply immediately.

For a few moments, Mycroft could hear nothing but the loud beating of his own heart.

"I know that you don't really want me to answer that," Sherlock said at last.

"What do you mean?" Mycroft tried to keep the chagrin out of his voice.

"Good bye, Mycroft. Try to remember that you're over me."

The line disconnected and Mycroft stared blankly at his desk before lowering his phone and switching it off. What annoyed him most was that he couldn't tell which answer he had been dreading most.

* * *

Hamish sat in silence at the table, twirling his fork around his plate. He was hungry, but far too caught up in his thoughts to eat anything, and maybe if he gave up on food his parents would realise just how serious he was about Mycroft. After all, it wasn't some silly crush that he'd look back on as a mistake. It was real. It was love.

He was just so sick of being treated as a child. He wouldn't be a teenager for many more years and he was almost seventeen, with his birthday next week. Too bad his phone had been confiscated or he would have already been trying to organise a secret rendezvous with Mycroft for his special day. But no, he would probably end up spending the day in his room with a sour face on him.

Sherlock had just opened his mouth to say something when the doorbell rang. Hopeful that Mycroft had finally come to rescue him, Hamish was half out of his seat before John pushed him back down and walked off to find out who it was himself.

"It won't be him, Hamish," Sherlock said softly, accurately reading his son's thoughts. "Just eat something, will you? Please."

"I'm not hungry," Hamish lied, straining his ears to hear what was happening downstairs. If it _was_ Mycroft, John would probably send him away and then lie about it being someone else. Maybe he should risk leaping up from his seat again and running down to see for himself.

Before he could make a decision, a door slammed and John came storming his way upstairs again, his feet pounding on each step. When he entered the room, Sherlock stood up and went over to him.

"Was it-?"

"Who does he think he is?" John hissed. "He can't just come 'round here and think everything...! Bloody hell. I hate him. I hope I never see him again."

Hamish stood up, knocking his chair back in his excitement. Only one thing could get John this riled up and that was Mycroft. Which meant he _had_ come!

"Stay where you are, Hamish," Sherlock called over his shoulder, comfortingly gripping John's hand before moving past and going downstairs.

"I want to see him," Hamish said calmly.

John pinched his nose. "No."

"Please."

"This is for your own good, alright?" John snapped, then gestured at the table. "Sit down and eat your dinner."

"I'm not hungry. Please let me see Mycroft."

"I said no!" John shouted, regret flashing over his face as he saw Hamish flinch. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I just wish you could see what he's doing to you."

"He loves me!" Hamish retorted. His hands were clenched into fists by his sides and after another moment of hesitance, he walked quickly towards the door.

Quickly reaching out to grab his arm, John said, "Hamish, stop! I said no!"

"You can't stop me!" Thrashing, Hamish tried to pull free but instead found himself pressed against the wall with his arms pulled tightly behind his back.

"Don't test me," John warned him.

"What the hell are you doing?"

John's grip loosened slightly as he and Hamish turned their heads to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, eyes wide as he observed them.

"Let him go, John," Sherlock said.

"If I let him go he'll go straight down to-" John's words cut off as Sherlock stepped forward into the room and revealed Mycroft behind him.

"Me?" Mycroft asked. "Yes, perhaps he would. Now that I'm in the same room, however, you should be able to release him without worrying about losing sight."

"Myc!" Hamish exclaimed, managing to wriggle free while John stared in surprise.

"I am here-" Mycroft began, holding a hand out to stop Hamish from vaulting into his arms. "-simply to deliver a message which John did not give me time to say before he closed the door."

The grin on Hamish's face looked almost painful, it was so huge.

"And what's that?" John asked through clenched teeth.

Mycroft looked thoughtfully into Hamish's face for a moment. When he raised his eyes to John, he cleared his throat. "I have no intention of pursuing Hamish any longer. I apologise for wrongfully using him to fulfil my desires but I will now leave him alone. You don't need to worry."

Hamish felt the ground lurch.

"What?" he asked weakly. His face had paled significantly and he looked sick. "You didn't use me. I wanted it." Glancing briefly back at John, he repeated, "I wanted it!"

"Don't expect me to just forgive you," John said over Hamish.

"Of course not," Mycroft replied. "I don't expect you'll ever want to see me again."

"Why aren't you listening to me? Sherlock, tell them! Tell them I wanted it! You wanted him once, you must understand." In an attempt to capture Mycroft's attention again, Hamish rushed forward and wrapped his arms around the man's waist.

"Hamish, get off him-"

"Please, Hamish, don't make this-"

"I _know_ you love me-"

"Mycroft, why are you-"

"-no, I said let go, let _go-_ "

"Careful!"

"Dad, please!"

"-can't be with you because-"

"I don't want you anymore!"

Finally wrenching Hamish back, John pulled the boy into his arms and held him tightly. Mycroft was breathing heavily and straightened his suit, avoiding Hamish's gaze but giving in to the impulse to glance over at Sherlock.

Sherlock was staring right back at him, his expression one of great surprise. "You said that you were-"

"I am," Mycroft snapped quickly, cutting off the end of whatever Sherlock had been going to say. "Now if you'll excuse me." He turned and left the room, the sound of the door closing below quickly following.

After a few moments of silence, Sherlock went over to the sofa and flopped down, closing his eyes and clasping his hands together beneath his chin.

"Thank god that's over." John sighed. "Come on, Hamish, it's for the best that you now know what he's like." He had barely started trying to turn Hamish to face him, however, when the boy broke free and bolted up the stairs to his room.

"Leave him," Sherlock murmured as John took a step to follow.

"But I-"

"Leave. Him."


End file.
